


What Could Have Been

by halfdemonvash



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault are Best Friends, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prisoner of War, which are probably poly because why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdemonvash/pseuds/halfdemonvash
Summary: The war is going poorly for the Empire, and it takes an even worse turn when the Prime Minister himself is captured by the enemy.It'll take a truly unconventional plan on Hubert's part to get close enough to rescue him...but does Ferdinand even want to return?





	1. Chapter 1

_The Emperor is depending on you_.

Ferdinand can’t explain why those words ring through his skull as he falls from his warhorse, hitting the ground so hard he jars his shoulder from its socket. He’s been bucked from a horse before—he knows how to fall. But somehow the falling this time is slower, sharper, the impact worse than anything he’s felt before.

It hurts because he knows this is it. This is the end. Falling in every sense of the word.

The ground is made of damp grass, staining his long hair with dirt and grit as he struggles. His armor is impossibly heavy. His horse has bolted, spooked by a nearby spell.

_Hubert_.

The breath labors in his chest as he reaches out, hearing the man’s soft, threatening voice crooning in his mind.

_The Emperor is depending on you_.

But when he looks up through the fog, it isn’t Hubert he sees. It’s the figure of a woman, her hands wreathed in red light.

“Oh,” she sighs, her eyes tight with guilt. “Ferdie…”

Dorothea. A friend, a confidante, a classmate—a traitor. When Edelgard had revealed herself as the Flame Emperor, posed the question of who would fight with her or against her, the majority of the Black Eagle House defected. Only Hubert and Ferdinand had remained by Edelgard’s side.

“They will pay for this,” Hubert had growled after he’d warped the three of them out of the Holy Tomb. “Especially the professor. She’s the one who got into their minds, poisoned them against our true aim.”

Ferdinand isn’t sure if that’s true. Isn’t even really sure why he was so adamant to join Edelgard on her bloody path to create a new Fódlan.

He isn’t sure about a lot of things, but he’s sure that this is the day he’ll die, killed at the hands of an old friend.

But Dorothea pauses, the light still playing between her fingers. Then she lowers her hands.

“I can’t,” she gasps, even though her dress and armor is already stained with red, even though her face is aglow after using so much magic. “I can’t do this…”

Ferdinand can’t speak. His mouth his numb, his body too heavy. He’s probably broken some bones. His shoulder radiates a nauseating ache. His tongue tastes of copper.

“Dorothea? What are you doing?”

Another familiar voice, but Ferdinand can’t place it. It’s been years since the monastery, years since he and Edelgard and Hubert retreated to Enbarr, years of struggling to figure out what the right path was—if he missed his chance, if he had chosen well.

Years of Hubert staring at him as if wishing to either run his fingers through his hair or squash him under his heel.

He’d never find out which, now.

But he doesn’t feel the sharp slide of a blade between his armor plates. He doesn’t feel the blast of a spell incinerate him on the spot.

He feels arms wrap around him, and then he falls again, into darkness.

~

Once the Kingdom army has retreated, Hubert surveys the battle site with a scowl. He holds his bloodied arm, shooing away a healer because he can’t be bothered while he’s making mental tallies.

They only scraped by. The Kingdom’s forces—especially now that they’ve allied with the Alliance—are no joke. Edelgard failed to woo enough nobles to their cause to turn the tide against them.

They are losing this war. One or two more battles, and then…

Hubert grits his teeth. He can’t afford to think like this, not when the Emperor is so focused on their task. He has been raised to tend to her every whim, her every need. She needs to win this war.

They all need her to win this war.

Hubert stalks through the carnage, kicking through the low hanging fog as he surveys the bodies lying in twisted positions, flesh burned and boiled or else sloughed away by swords. A particularly vicious wound has surely been made by gauntlets, tearing mercilessly through an Imperial soldier from sternum to stomach, entrails still steaming in the cold.

The Kingdom’s soldiers are all beasts, just like their feral leader.

A soft snort makes him turn. A warhorse stands shivering at the edge of the battlefield, near the trees. Hubert frowns as he takes in its coloring, its armor.

It’s Ferdinand’s.

It’s hard to explain the kick in his chest, the way his stomach drops. Hubert makes long strides toward the horse, gripping its reins so hard it whickers and fidgets.

“Where…” Hubert realizes he’s posing a question to a bloody horse. But there’s no sign of its rider anywhere—no flash of orange hair, or the red of his tunic.

“Ferdinand.” The word comes out as a choked whisper. Then, louder: “Ferdinand!”

But there’s no whimper, no call, no assurance. Just a small puddle of blood in the grass that’s long since grown cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was born out of my screaming "PLEASE JUST GET ALONG" during my Crimson Flower playthrough. Also these two have taken over my life and now I'm making you all suffer with me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ferdinand captured and Hubert practically pulling his hair out, the two will have to make some difficult choices.

All Ferdinand had ever wanted was to be a good noble.

No…not merely good. The best.

It made him wonder, then, why he decided to follow Edelgard and her ideals. She wanted to eliminate the nobility, the Crests, to create a meritocracy that seemed more and more impossible the longer the war waged around them.

She’d pointed her axe at the Church and declared their time was over. Ferdinand didn’t care much for the Church or Rhea or any of that—didn’t really care much for anything other than his own principles and goals.

One of those goals had been to upstage Edelgard, to prove himself better. Childish, he realized too late. Impossible.

So why had he followed her?

The question swam through his bleary mind as he came to in a dim tent. He was lying on his back, staring up at a sheet of canvas. His mouth tasted horrifying, as if he’d just licked the bottom of his own boot.

A weak gurgle escaped him, and a figure leaned over him.

“Awake again, are you?” came the familiar, drawling voice of Linhardt. The healer carefully marked the book he was reading and set it aside so he could press probing fingers to Ferdinand’s wounds. “Can you actually talk this time?”

“Hrngh,” Ferdinand said.

“Close enough.” He whistled, and a guard poked her head through the tent flap. “He’s awake and semi-lucid.”

Ferdinand just blinked, unaware of what was happening or why. The fact that Linhardt was here…Was he possibly in a dream? Every so often he returned to those days at the monastery, surrounded by his classmates and striving to do his best every single day, a candle with a dangerously short wick.

Those were the days he had quarreled and preened to his heart’s content. Especially with Hubert. Well…only with Hubert.

_Stop_, he ordered his wandering mind. _Focus_.

“I…” Ferdinand wheezed, tried not to cough. “I assume…I’m in the Kingdom’s camp?”

“Astute as always,” Linhardt drawled.

“How…” Ferdinand turned his head, finding only more canvas. “Why?”

“You don’t seem particularly concerned,” Linhardt noted in that tone he took whenever he prattled on about Crestology. “Interesting.”

Why would Ferdinand be worried? If he were in the Kingdom’s camp, that meant he was surrounded by old friends. A reunion of sorts.

But that was ridiculous. This wasn’t a reunion—this was a war. And he had every reason to be worried.

Linhardt shoved some sort of tincture into his mouth, which he sputtered over. His ribs hurt, his shoulder hurt, his head hurt. He hadn’t felt this beaten since the earliest battles of the war.

A memory came unbidden: Hubert prowling the battlefield, finding Ferdinand kneeling beside the slain body of his former warhorse. Ferdinand had placed a hand upon her side, face wet with tears, body and mind in shock after the gruesome fight.

“Get up,” Hubert had whispered through the shock. A hand tightened around his arm. “Your Emperor needs you.”

Ferdinand had swallowed past his tight throat. Had wanted to shout at him, to demand what exactly they were accomplishing with all this bloodshed.

“You’re a beast,” he had eventually said, voice thick with tears. “You truly feel nothing, do you? You blast soldiers away and your conscience remains unaffected. How do you do it, Hubert?”

He had looked up to find the man staring down at him, pale eyes pinched with…disgust? Pity?

“I do it because she wills it.” Hubert had placed a hand upon his chest, as solemn as ever.

Ferdinand should have known better than to ask. With Hubert, everything boiled down to Edelgard this, Edelgard that.

There was no room in Hubert’s black heart for anything else. Truly, a beast.

The tent flap opened and Ferdinand tensed, hissing at the pain it caused. The golden head of King Dimitri was like the sun bearing down on him, that one blue eye searing straight into Ferdinand’s soul. He was dressed in black armor, the fur collar of his cloak bristling along his neck.

Another beast in a field of lambs.

“So.” Dimitri crossed his arms, his low voice like the rasp of a whetstone against a blade. A hulking shadow at his back resolved into the shape of Dedue. “We have ourselves a minister of the Empire.”

Ferdinand’s fingers twitched against the scratchy blanket beneath him. Goddess, he should have seen this coming.

“You should be thankful Dorothea pleaded for your life,” Dimitri went on, his tone cool, impassionate, as if he had already written Ferdinand off as nothing but an enemy to be struck down. “That she thought of all the ways in which we can make use of you.”

“I am…not going to be your prisoner,” Ferdinand struggled to say. “I am—”

“Ferdinand von Aegir, yes, we know,” came Linhardt’s weary voice as he continued his medical examination. “You’ve shouted it enough times for the name to stick.”

“You have no choice,” Dimitri said coldly. “When we return to Fhirdiad, you’ll be kept hostage until we can reach some sort of agreement with Ed…with that woman.” Dimitri’s face, somehow, grew even harder, his armor creaking under tightening fingers. Even Dedue at his back looked more grim than usual. “This was your choice, Ferdinand. You chose to go with them, to give your services to the Empire instead of the Kingdom. You would have had a place with us. You’re intelligent, and a brilliant soldier. Such a waste.”

Ferdinand’s face heated at the compliment-turned-insult, but his mind was so sluggish, he could barely think of a retort. He only heard that familiar snake-like voice echoing through him like a struck bell.

_Your Emperor needs you_.

Was Edelgard his Emperor? Or was she merely a stepping stone on Ferdinand’s path to greatness?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

“We can do this the difficult way or the easy way,” Dimitri went on. “When we get to Fhirdiad, we can interrogate you for the Empire’s plans…or we can simply ask them of you.”

Ferdinand moved his tongue around his mouth, trying to work up enough saliva to respond. “Neither of those sound particularly pleasing.”

“You should consider yourself lucky that I’m giving you a choice.” Dimitri smiled, and it was colder than the farthest northern regions of Faerghus. “You can be a traitor to the Kingdom, or a traitor to the Empire. It all depends on how well you can handle pain.”

Ferdinand tried to still his shaking. He was used to pain, but that didn’t mean we wanted more of it. To be locked in a dungeon and his nails pried off, babbling half-truths only to get them to stop.

He knew of Hubert’s tactics, down in the palace’s cells. He knew what the man had to do to pry answers from enemy spies. He knew how Hubert looked emerging from the shadows with his hands red and dripping, the light in his eyes grown dark.

Ferdinand couldn’t swallow; his throat was too dry. “I…don’t think…interrogation will be necessary.”

A beat of silence. Even Linhardt’s fingers stilled against his chest.

Dimitri nodded once. “Very well. Keep him sedated until we reach the capital,” Dimitri ordered Linhardt before turning away with a sweep of his cloak.

Ferdinand closed his eyes tight, fighting against the rising shame within him that took the shape of Hubert's scowl.

~

“Hubert. Please, stop.”

He froze in the middle of the Emperor’s bedroom, gloved hands flexing uselessly at his sides. He could still smell fog and blood. He could still hear that warhorse’s frightened whinny when it was led away from the spot Ferdinand had fallen.

They hadn’t found his body.

“I don’t…” He took a deep breath, composed himself. He was the Minister of Imperial Affairs; his own thoughts, fears, worries mattered little compared to the Emperor’s. “I apologize, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard sat on the edge of her large canopy bed, hands clasped between her knees. She looked just as weary as Hubert felt. She knew.

She knew they were falling apart.

“I…” Edelgard looked away, pale hair falling over her shoulder. “I know you’re worried about him. I am as well. But we can’t lose our composure or our resolve because of one soldier. We need to figure out our best strategy for how to take Fhirdiad, how to suppress the Alliance lords.”

Usually her words were laced with determination, but they were both so damn tired. If Hubert were a different person—if he were _Ferdinand_—he would have put an arm around Edelgard’s shoulders and given her an encouraging speech.

But Ferdinand wasn’t here. They were in the middle of a dark, barren desert with no sign of the sun on the horizon.

Hubert didn’t understand it. Edelgard was right: Ferdinand was just one soldier, an infuriating man who needled Hubert at all hours of the day. Whether it was that bright, obnoxious laugh or the condescending way he regarded Hubert through his long lashes, Hubert had more than once imagined the pleasure of sinking his knuckles into Ferdinand’s too-perfect face.

He almost had. He wished he had. He wished he had a bit of the man’s blood in his laboratory, to craft a spell with which to find him and bring him home.

For Edelgard, of course. Hubert kept her path clear with his underground dealings, but Ferdinand lit the way, kept her spirits up. Hubert only wanted him here so that their Emperor could stride forward in confidence.

But the days had gone on, and through their strategy sessions and plans and reports, Hubert only felt the knot within him grow tighter.

Until a week later, when a messenger had run up to him, out of breath.

Hubert stared at the letter. His fingers crumpled into it, his vision narrowing on that hateful name at the bottom, that long and elegant script so at odds with the man’s feral nature.

_We have the Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir as our prisoner. We have no cause to harm him unless your actions inspire us differently. We hope we can come to some sort of understanding without resorting to more violence._

_ His Majesty of Faerghus Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

Hubert had had to set the letter down and step away before he tore it into pieces, or turned it to ashes with a spell. He'd breathed deeply, paced, had another mug of coffee, but it had done nothing to quell the nausea settled in his stomach.

But now he finally felt he had to share. He handed the letter to Edelgard, and her eyes narrowed as her nostrils flared in rage.

“How…How dare he,” she growled. “If he thinks I will hand over the Empire just for one soldier, he’s sorely mistaken.”

_Just one soldier_. But Ferdinand wasn’t just one soldier, was he?

“He desires to confer with you regarding the outcome of this war,” Hubert said smoothly.

“I don’t want to confer. I want to crush them into the ground.” Edelgard crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire. Hubert watched its edges curl and blacken. “I want…I wanted…”

She was breathing heavily, her lower lashes damp. Hubert recalled the misery of those first few months after the battle at the monastery, the news that the professor was missing—presumed dead—and how hard Edelgard had taken it. She had given herself to grief in a way he’d hardly seen from her, even considering the misery her family had been made to endure.

Hubert couldn’t stand to see her this way.

“Your Majesty,” he said softly, “I have an idea.”

She looked at him, violet eyes wide and wet. Waiting.

“If I travel to Fhirdiad,” he began slowly, “in the guise of wanting to discuss a potential peace treaty…I can help Ferdinand escape and return to the Empire. As well as have a shot of taking out the feral prince.”

Edelgard swallowed. Sat back down on her bed.

“That’s…I don’t know how believable they would find you,” Edelgard admitted. “You’ve made your disdain for them quite clear.”

Hubert supposed that was true. He was thinking it through more when Edelgard straightened her shoulders.

“There is something that might help you convince them,” she said. Her voice had gone tight and controlled, the way she sounded when she was unsure of Hubert’s reaction.

“If it will help, then let’s hear it.”

Edelgard hesitated. Cleared her throat.

“You can pretend that Ferdinand is…important to you,” she murmured. “That his safety is paramount to you.”

Hubert frowned, confused. Of course Ferdinand was important to their cause. How would this…

And then it dawned on him, the implication in her words. His lips parted in horror.

“Appeal to the Kingdom as Ferdinand’s lover,” Edelgard said. “And that you’d do anything to get him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! It's been so long since I've posted fanfic, but I'm so glad I started again. Another chapter in a few days~
> 
> (And yeah I guess this is semi-slow burn, SORRY)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdie is between a rock and a hard place (treason), and Hubert is Aggrieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and support!! <3 As a reward, things are gonna start getting Jucier from here on out *eye emoji*

Ferdinand groaned over the bowl of colorless porridge that was placed before him.

“You have no right to complain,” Linhardt said. “Be thankful they didn’t toss you in the dungeons.”

“Why _aren’t_ I in the dungeons?” Ferdinand asked, looking around at the small, sparse room they’d dumped him in after their trek from Adrestria.

He honestly couldn’t recall most of it, on account of Linhardt’s orders to keep him sedated and the fact that sleeping was infinitely better than being jostled and cursed at by Kingdom soldiers.

“Because I asked them not to,” Dorothea said as she swept into the room, hands clasped before her. She looked different off the battlefield, calm and composed with a hint of a smirk on that rosy mouth. “And because you were smart enough not to put up a fight. You owe me, Ferdie.”

“Ah…” It took a moment to catch up, to remember the pain and humiliation as he writhed on the ground beneath her. He ducked his head. “I suppose I do owe you my life.”

“Oh, don’t sound so glum.” She sat on the edge of the bed as Linhardt performed one of his daily healing spells, not bothering to hide his yawn. “Think of this as a second chance.”

He shook his head. “For what?”

Dorothea touched the outline of his leg under the blankets. “It hurt a lot of us, when you left with Edie and Hubie. Even the professor was disappointed.” Ferdinand winced. “I just couldn’t understand it. You spent your whole life not wanting to be in Edie’s shadow, only to end up choosing that instead of fighting at our side. Why?”

He almost laughed. He had been asking himself that question for five years, now.

“I’m not entirely sure myself,” he admitted.

Dorothea frowned. “Well, in any case, you’re here now. You don’t have to serve Edie…Edelgard anymore if you don’t want to.”

Ferdinand blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Eat your porridge,” Linhardt interrupted, shoving the spoon at Ferdinand’s bandaged chest. Ferdinand grasped it clumsily within his callused hand.

“Well, you did agree to trade Empire secrets for…this.” Dorothea indicated the room around them. “After the battle.”

Ferdinand nearly blanched the same shade as his porridge. That’s right—Dimitri had come into the tent and given him a terrible ultimatum.

How, _how_ was he supposed to have chosen between the two options? He wondered what Hubert would have done. Probably poisoned himself rather than give away any information.

Well. Ferdinand wasn’t Hubert.

“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to worry about facing the Emperor’s wrath once you appease Dimitri,” Dorothea went on. “Because you’ll be here. With us.”

“As a prisoner.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve been talking to Dimitri and the others.” Dorothea began to play with her hair, a nervous habit. “It’s taken some convincing, but they’ve agreed to give you a trial, of sorts. Nothing big, just…a meeting to determine whether you’ll stay a pawn of the Empire or a soldier working for us.”

Ferdinand stared at her long and hard. Dorothea gave him an airy smile.

“So my choices are to remain a hostage or change sides,” he interpreted.

“Pretty much.” Dorothea patted his leg again. “I know there’s a brilliant mind under all that hair, Ferdie. I trust you’ll choose wisely.”

“Are you…threatening me?” His voice climbed higher at the end.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Just make sure you thoroughly weigh your choices before tomorrow’s meeting.” Her smile vanished, leaving her grim. “I really don’t want to see you in this position, Ferdie. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but…I couldn’t bear to see you used, or…”

_Killed. Hanged. Publicly executed_. Ferdinand swallowed, staring down at the congealing porridge in his lap.

“I will…think on it,” he said eventually. Appeased, Dorothea stood and headed for the door.

“You’re not very popular here,” Dorothea warned him. “I’d advise you to think extra carefully before making a decision.”

Once she was gone and Linhardt’s spell was finished, Ferdinand finally took a bite of the porridge and made a face. It was cold and not nearly sweet enough. He supposed things like sugar were scarce to come by during a war.

“Ah…could I possibly have some tea?” he asked weakly. Linhardt rolled his eyes.

“I’m not your maid,” the man muttered, “or your jailer. Your ribs and shoulder are healed, by the way.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Ferdinand cleared his throat. “Linhardt…I’m sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position. I like to think we were friends, back at the Officer’s Academy.”

Linhardt blinked at him, taken aback. “What uncomfortable position? You’re a patient. I’m treating you. The past is the past.”

“Still.” Ferdinand shrank against his pillow, remembering the battles that had yawned across the years, the blood he’d accumulated on his hands. None of it had belonged to his former classmates, and yet…

They had been on opposite sides of a war. _Were_ on opposite sides of a war. His place was supposed to be in Enbarr, performing the duties his father had been too meek and mild to uphold, creating a plan for victory at whatever cost.

Supposed to be. And yet here he was, not even putting up a fight, tortured only with a guilty conscience and cold porridge.

_The Emperor is depending on you_.

Ferdinand closed his eyes and sighed. If he defected from the Empire, Edelgard—or Hubert—would surely kill him. If he remained a prisoner, the Kingdom would likely execute him.

There was no way to win this.

“_Fine_, I’ll get you some tea if you stop making that face,” Linhardt muttered.

Ferdinand couldn’t help but smile despite the roiling in his stomach. Duty, responsibility, honor—these were the pillars on which he had tried to build his life.

And now they were crumbling all around him.

~

As he sat before Dimitri and the small council he had gathered, Ferdinand tried not to shift. His body was still aching and sore, but a hot bath and Linhardt’s spells had done wonders to make him presentable for this moment.

His torn, bloody clothes and armor were gone. He’d been given a simple white shirt with brown breeches, but at least the coat was a nice, deep shade of blue with accent gold thread. The von Aegirs were a noble family, after all.

A sign of good faith. That was promising.

Dimitri sat in the middle of a war council table. Dedue stood at his back, eyes leveled on Ferdinand, hand resting on his axe. On either side of Dimitri sat Felix and Sylvain, and Ingrid stood by the doors, the very picture of an attentive knight.

His old schoolmates. The Empire’s enemy.

The ones Hubert wanted to mow down without hesitation.

Ferdinand bit his lower lip. He wished Dorothea were here, or at least one of the other former Black Eagles. Instead, he had to suffer the eyes of five Blue Lions bearing down on him, mentally flaying him.

“Dorothea seems to think that you would be invaluable to us,” Dimitri said, breaking through the thick tension. “Not as a hostage, but as an aide.”

Ferdinand nodded slowly. “I’m sure you know I have experience.”

The corner of Dimitri’s smile curled wryly. “To an extent.”

To his left, Felix scoffed. “Why are we bothering to have this meeting? Kill him and be done with it. He’s obviously a spy.”

“Who let himself get captured?” Sylvain raised an eyebrow at the swordsman. “With multiple wounds?”

“You don’t know what all he might be capable of. We could be playing right into Edelgard’s hands, for all we know.”

“It is true he hasn’t put up much of a fight,” Dimitri mused. “Why is that, von Aegir?”

Ferdinand swallowed. _Von Aegir_, not _Ferdinand._ “I’m afraid I don’t have a satisfactory answer for you.”

“Then answer this: why did you choose the Empire’s side all those years ago?”

Again that question. Ferdinand almost laughed, swallowing the bitter sound.

“I don’t know that, either,” he whispered. “Perhaps out of obligation to my family name, to pick up where my father left off. I had been raised to prepare for that day.” He shrugged, the shackles on his wrists clattering. He had stated he didn’t need them, but Ingrid insisted on the king’s safety. They presented a rather unseemly statement piece against the nice blue coat. “I had known nothing else.”

Recalling that day in the Holy Tomb made his stomach tighten. He could still perfectly remember the way he had taken a step toward the professor, toward his classmates, before looking at Edelgard. At Hubert.

Only to find Hubert staring at him, penetrating, inescapable. Pleading.

And Ferdinand had changed his trajectory, his future. All because of that stare.

“I felt…that I was needed,” Ferdinand said. “It was as simple as that. But fighting like this…It’s not simple, is it?”

A cold laugh from Dimitri. It stirred the hairs on the nape of Ferdinand’s neck.

“An understatement if I ever heard one,” Dimitri whispered. “_We_ need you, von Aegir, much as it pains me to say it. We need you to sit in on war councils and present us with the Empire’s approach to strategy. To give us any and all information on Enbarr we may use to our advantage.”

Ferdinand swallowed. He thought of his father, spineless and easily brushed to the side. He’d spent many furious nights lying in bed and telling himself he’d never become like that. That he would be the Prime Minister Adrestia deserved.

But in the end, that wasn’t the road fate had chosen for him.

And he was so damn tired of fighting. He wanted to see Adrestria thrive. Whether it was under Edelgard or without her, one thing was for certain: it would flourish without a war ravaging its borders.

“All right,” he whispered even as his heart and resolve shriveled. Even as he thought to Hubert’s pleading stare, a lifelong rivalry set aside for one stretching moment of vulnerability.

There had been many nights Ferdinand had thought about Hubert, too.

The doors opened behind Ferdinand. He wondered who else Dimitri had called to this little meeting to determine Ferdinand’s fate. He turned his head, hoping to find Dorothea’s friendly face, or even Bernadetta and her trademark purple hair.

Instead, the breath caught in his throat at the sight of pale green hair and eyes. Byleth smiled at him, as serene and mild as ever.

“P-Professor!” Ferdinand made to stand, but Ingrid kicked the back of his chair in warning and he plopped back down. “How—?”

“We all thought she was dead. Should have known better.” Sylvain said with a wink in Byleth’s direction. The professor merely raised an eyebrow at him. “She came to join our cause.”

Ferdinand couldn’t help the way his mouth gaped. There was a fist-sized hole in his stomach as he thought back to Edelgard’s weeping, despairing over the loss of their teacher, their companion.

The professor was back…and hadn’t chosen Edelgard. Hadn’t even told her she was alive.

Ferdinand’s chest tightened in understanding. In revelation.

“We will vote to determine if we’ll let you join the Kingdom,” Dimitri was saying through the fog in Ferdinand’s mind. “If that is what you want.”

Licking dry lips, Ferdinand slowly nodded. What else could he do?

“I vote yes,” Sylvain said with a grin. “Gingers gotta stick together, right?”

“Ugh,” Felix said. “I vote no. I don’t trust him.”

“It’ll be a yes for me,” Dimitri said slowly, surprising everyone. “I want to know what all you’re capable of, von Aegir. And I don’t fear you enough to think you could stab me in the back.”

“If His Majesty votes yes, I will vote yes as well,” Dedue said.

“I vote no,” Ingrid said behind him, her voice like steel.

They all turned to the professor. Byleth nodded calmly, gazing at Ferdinand with something close to regret in her eyes.

Regret for her vote? Or for what he had become?

“I vote yes,” she said quietly.

Ferdinand exhaled shakily, hanging his head.

And just like that, he had turned his back on his homeland, his title, his Emperor.

An Emperor he had never wanted in the first place.

Ingrid scowled while she unlocked his fetters. As he rubbed his wrists, he couldn’t stop thinking about pale green eyes boring into him, yanking him from a path he had ended up on regardless.

~

Hubert had never been very good with horses. He had mostly learned thanks to the professor’s insistence that he have stable duty with Ferdinand, and he had watched the other man brush and murmur lovingly to the steeds, feeding them and calming them. The way his long, tapered fingers stroked through a mare’s mane and the way his voice dipped and soared as he addressed them.

The ride to Fhirdiad was miserable. There was rain and muck, and bandits besides, and his thighs were in constant agony. But he had to remain vigilant, in case the Kingdom decided to answer their response with a good old fashioned assassination attempt.

Edelgard had sent on the missive ahead of him, claiming that a representative was coming to discuss the matter of a treaty. Hubert hoped that was enough to keep him from being turned into a pincushion of arrows.

Thankfully, as soon as he came near the gates of the royal palace he was descended on by a contingent of guards who took his horse and led him inside, swords firmly remaining in their scabbards.

“Hubert von Vestra,” said a blonde woman he remembered from the Blue Lions House. A Pegasus knight, he was fairly certain. “I’m surprised the Emperor sent her own stooge. It’s certainly been a while.”

Her stance was guarded, ready for a fight. He remembered this about her, too.

“Ingrid,” he said with a slick bow. “I trust the years haven’t been too difficult?”

Her eyes narrowed as the muscle in her jaw jutted out. Hubert told himself to rein in his contempt; he couldn’t afford to make these fools any angrier than they already were. But the fact that he stood here, in enemy territory, in that beast’s own house, was making his skin crawl.

He couldn’t wait to see Edelgard raze this place to the ground.

A couple other knights had come to join them, no doubt to ogle at his presence. Hubert recognized their faces from the monastery, a collection of students from his own house and that of the Blue Lions, even a Golden Deer or two.

“It really is you,” came the meek voice of Bernadetta. Hubert had never disliked the girl, and it had admittedly pained him to have her turn her back on the Empire.

“I don’t like this at all,” Caspar said, way too loudly, of course. “Even at school this guy was always twitchy and weird!”

“Well, we have no choice,” Ingrid ground out. “The king agreed to speak with him.”

“But _why_?” demanded another black mage, Lysithea. She glared at him. “Why would the Empire suddenly give in to a plea for peace?”

Hubert stiffened as he realized he hadn’t been leaning into Edelgard’s plan. _Foolish_.

“I…” He placed a gloved hand against his chest. “I have been left with no choice.”

“No choice?” Caspar scoffed, crossing his arms. “You call fighting us, ambushing Kingdom camps, and trying to steal Crest Stones _no choice?_”

“That was before you took something invaluable to us. Now I must—”

“_Hubert?_”

His gaze was wrenched to the marble staircase. Ferdinand stood at the bottom, lips parted, amber eyes wide. The sun through the windows high above slanted over his orange hair, making it glow about his shoulders.

He was all right.

And he was insufferingly beautiful.

“You have to sell the story to make them believe you,” Edelgard had warned him back in Enbarr. “If we’re going to pull this off, you must employ everything in your arsenal.”

Hubert barely thought before he was striding forward, ignoring Ingrid’s shout. He reached out and took Ferdinand’s hands within his own, those amber eyes so close, now.

He felt the burst of Ferdinand’s surprised breath as he leaned in to kiss him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert and Ferdinand are reunited at last...and both are about to be hit with unpleasant surprises.

There was a time when Ferdinand would have recoiled at the thought of physical contact with Hubert.

Not because he was scared of the man—no, of course not—but because…well, it was _Hubert_.

Hubert, who lovingly handled dark spells and fatal poisons.

Hubert, who lurked in the shadows as if he had the power to manipulate them at will.

Hubert, who had devoted to carving a bloody path for Edelgard, regardless of who he sliced down.

They had been one year into the war, having just scored a victory against the Kingdom in Alliance territory near the Bridge of Myrdin. They had marched back to Enbarr, and Hubert and Ferdinand had locked themselves away to deal with the tedious act of paperwork—ordering more supplies, more weapons, using their victory to reach out to potential allies and secure more land in the south.

Ferdinand had started to nod off at Hubert’s desk. They had decided to work in the same room that night in order to address any questions that arose amid the reading of reports and distribution of orders. On the other side of his desk, Hubert had unsuccessfully tried to hide a yawn.

He’d already had two cups of tea, but apparently a third was in order. The two of them had been sitting in silence for almost an hour, and Ferdinand had often felt Hubert’s gaze pass over him. Debating, no doubt, whether or not to critique his leadership during the recent battle.

“Do you…” Ferdinand had trailed off, but Hubert’s questioning look prompted him on. “Do you ever regret leaving the monastery? Starting this campaign?”

Nightmares had been following him into sleep for months. Dreams of his former classmates dead at his feet. How it felt to cleave his lance into flesh.

Hubert’s cheek had twitched. “Never.”

Ferdinand had flinched back, regretting having opened his mouth. Thinking that third cup of tea might help him recover, he stood to walk to the teapot.

Hubert reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. He had taken off his gloves for the night, and Ferdinand had stared down at that pale appendage wrapped around him, spider-like and scarred—from knife work, from chemical burns, from spells gone wrong.

He had stood frozen, half-hunched over the desk as Hubert’s fingers pressed into his pulse.

“I…” Hubert quickly released him. His face had shuttered with some unknown emotion, then quickly smoothed over into his usual disdain. “I will need another cup of coffee.”

Ferdinand had nodded stiffly before turning to the drink cart. His face had burned, but not as brightly as the circle of Hubert’s touch around his wrist, like a bangle of heat—or the tingling of poison.

It had been the first time Hubert had ever touched him skin to skin. That night, after the reports were done and Ferdinand could finally fall into bed, he’d still felt the impression of Hubert’s fingers, the slight caress of fingertips against his veins.

Covering his face with a pillow as if to hide his shame, he’d reached between his legs with the hand Hubert had touched, hiding his frustrated groans the way he used to do back at the monastery.

Hubert had been careful not to touch him since.

~

Ferdinand stood frozen on the stairs as Hubert’s lips brushed his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

This was a fever dream. Surely he had succumbed to his wounds and was floating now above the earth, his mind giving in to the ridiculous and absurd thoughts that had once plagued him in his youth.

But no—no, this was quite real, if the violent lurch of his heart was anything to go by.

Hubert pulled away quickly and squeezed Ferdinand’s hands, much too tightly. An obvious warning.

“My love,” Hubert said, his voice hoarse even as his eyes sparked with an unspoken message. _Play along_. “You are unhurt? What have they done to you?”

Ferdinand’s brain tried—it did, truly—to catch up, but all he could do was gape at the man, feeling the echo of his lips, his kiss. “I…”

“What the _what?_” Caspar shrieked behind them. “They’re _together?_”

Bernadetta clapped her hands with a wide smile. “I knew it! All those times they had tea and coffee dates at the monastery…”

Ferdinand’s face was flaming, his entire body vibrating so hard he thought he might just launch off the ground and into the sun.

“Uh,” he said.

“Ohhh. This makes much more sense,” Lysithea said. “I always saw them staring at one another back at the monastery when the other thought they weren’t looking.” Hubert choked a little.

Ingrid crossed her arms, unmoved by the display. “Step away from von Aegir, if you please.”

Ferdinand knew by her tone that it wasn’t a suggestion. Hubert stepped back, dropping his hands. Guards came to stand between them.

“You are not a guest here,” Ingrid went on. “You are at the Kingdom’s mercy. One wrong move…”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” Hubert said in that dripping voice of his. “You can’t fault me for wanting to see that my lover was all right, can you?”

Ferdinand did his very best not to succumb to a coughing fit. _Lover?_

“I can, and I will,” Ingrid bit out. “The guards will show you where you’ll be staying. You’re not going anywhere under their watch until the king calls for you.”

Hubert gave her a small, mocking bow. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He glanced at Ferdinand, and for a second his annoyance slipped and showed something true underneath: relief.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Hubert whispered, and Ferdinand wasn’t sure if he was acting.

“I…I’m glad to see you,” Ferdinand said, and it was the truth. He had a million questions and his cheek still tingled with his phantom touch, but Goddess, something in his chest loosened at the sight of Hubert standing before him.

Until Hubert’s eyes finally looked to either side of Ferdinand, narrowing in confusion at the lack of guards around him.

Oh.

This was going to go very, very poorly.

~

_Why am I choking on guards when that imbecile has none?_

Hubert paced the simple room they’d locked him up in, breathing too loud and too fast. He hadn’t meant to put on such a…_humiliating_ display, but he was supposed to be here as a lovelorn fool, and when he had seen Ferdinand standing there in the sunlight…

He groaned and rubbed his eyes so hard he saw spots. Though he would never say it aloud, this was all Edelgard’s fault.

But he had to do this. For her. For the Empire.

Get close enough to the Kingdom, pretend to plead for peace…then take Dimitri out once and for all.

He had been patted down, of course. He had made sure not to pack any poisons or extraneous weapons. They had taken his tome of sigils, but he had expected that. They didn’t even strip him down to see if he had inked any on his body. Amateurs.

When the king’s summons finally came, he still hadn’t been shown to a place to bathe, nor had his saddlebags been brought to him. They wanted him to feel cheap and filthy. Unprepared.

Hubert curled his upper lip as he was escorted down the halls. He much preferred the dark stone and marble of Enbarr, not the pale plaster and molding of Fhirdiad. To walk by Edelgard’s side through the palace they had always called home, ready to enact her every order.

He hated being away from her. It reminded him too much of when she had been taken to Fhirdiad, leaving him to howl and punch the floor against the rift in his chest where she resided. He had never thrown such a tantrum before, and never had again.

He had come dangerously close when Ferdinand had been taken.

Nobody—_nobody_—was allowed to take the things that were his.

The throne room was a riot of blue banners and white marble. Hubert blinked as the light bounced back and hurt his eyes. He immediately saw Ferdinand standing to one side, Sylvain Gautier muttering something in his ear. Hubert bristled at the brief smile that crossed Ferdinand’s face, which died as soon as he spotted Hubert. Ferdinand’s face paled.

Dimitri sat on the gold-wreathed throne, one hand curled possessively around the forearm of that Blue Lions swordsman from the monastery. Dimitri was murmuring something too low to make out, but it made Felix snort in amusement.

Then Dimitri swung his gaze toward Hubert and his ring of guards, and his eyes went cold and distant.

“So,” Dimitri said as Felix oh-so-casually rested a hand on one of his sword hilts. “That woman has sent you here to discuss a peace treaty.”

“I would greatly prefer if you called her by her name,” Hubert said. “And actually, this was my idea. You gave me no choice. Not when you plucked von Aegir from the battleground like an abandoned toy you decided to keep for yourself.”

Dimitri actually smirked at him. “I’m sure you yourself understand the value of a prisoner of war.”

Hubert did—intimately. He glanced at Ferdinand again, quickly assessing him for any signs of interrogation. But he looked healthy enough. Shaken, and there were bandages peeking from his shirt, but otherwise healthy.

“Then you know why I came to beseech you to return him to us,” Hubert said. “I came to Fhirdiad with no ill intent, Your Majesty.” His stomach writhed as he said the title, knowing it was for Edelgard alone. “I…I would do anything to get von Aegir back. Even if that means putting an indefinite pause on this war.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows rose as Felix frowned in obvious suspicion. “Anything?”

Sweat was beginning to trickle down the back of his neck, but he forced himself to bow. “Anything.”

“Hm.” Dimitri looked to Sylvain, who shrugged one shoulder. Ferdinand was trembling, not looking in Hubert’s direction. “We’ve come to an interesting crossroads, then, considering that von Aegir has decided to leave the Empire.”

Only years of training and conditioning kept the shock from Hubert’s face. He felt himself go rigid, his expression blank even as he tried to meet Ferdinand’s gaze. The man finally looked back at him, brows lowered in contention.

_You complete fucking fool_.

“I…see,” Hubert said slowly. “I suppose you gave him no other choice.”

“Yet ultimately it was his to make,” Dimitri said. “Depending on what you and von Aegir can do for us…If we can really come to some sort of understanding, and if that…if _Edelgard_ really calls off her troops, we might even let you join our ranks as well.” Felix barely held back his sound of disgust.

Hubert wanted to vomit at the very idea. “Or perhaps a truce will see both me and von Aegir safely returned to Enbarr, our homeland.”

“We shall have to see how the talks go, shall we?”

Hubert forced a stiff smile to his face. “I suppose we shall. I only ask that you put up me and Ferdinand in the same quarters. I…I cannot bear to be away from him any longer.”

Sylvain’s “aww” contrasted with Felix’s gagging noise.

“Very well. But you will be constantly and closely watched.” Dimitri gestured for the guards to lead him and Ferdinand away. “We will continue this tomorrow.”

Hubert caught Ferdinand’s eye as they turned to the doors of the throne room, and what Ferdinand saw made his skin grow ashen and his eyes widen in terror.

Ferdinand von Aegir was a traitor to the Empire.

And Hubert was not about to let that go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans collide and then reform. Ferdinand waffles while Hubert has a bad dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late!!! Life getting in the way, etc etc. Anyway, pls enjoy the ridiculous mutual pining of two dumbasses.

Ferdinand had the distinct feeling he was about to die.

They were shown to a modest suite, one central sitting room splitting off into a large bedroom and a washing room. There was even a small breakfast nook with a bay window showing off the royal gardens.

“There will be guards posted outside at all hours,” Ingrid told them. “You cannot go anywhere without being escorted. If anyone spots you out and about on your own…”

“We’ll be downgraded to the dungeons, yes, we get it,” Hubert said. “Now can you please let us have a proper reunion?”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes before closing the door to the suite, with the telltale jangle of armor outside.

Then it was just the two of them.

Ferdinand opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. What to do. How to play this. Before he could even think it through, Hubert began to search through the suite, tossing cushions from the couches and peering under the table in the breakfast nook.

“What…” Ferdinand had to clear his throat. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing if there are any sigils in here. Looks like we’re in the clear.”

Then Hubert grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him into the bedroom, where he slammed Ferdinand against the wall.

“What,” Hubert growled, “is the meaning of this?”

Ferdinand’s heart tripped wildly against his chest. Hubert was pressing into him, his one visible green eye sparking with rage.

No. He would not allow himself to be cowed so easily. He was a general, and he had faced worse than this.

“What did you expect me to do?” Ferdinand hissed, pitching his voice low in case the walls were thin. “They took me as their prisoner!”

“So you thought the easiest thing to do was turn traitor?”

“I am no traitor. I…”

His voice wavered, the corners of his eyes prickling. He had to close them tight, trying to avoid Hubert’s probing glare.

“I want to end this war,” Ferdinand whispered. “In any way I can.”

Hubert made a disgusted noise and released him. When Ferdinand opened his eyes again, it was to find the man pacing the wide bedroom. It was much nicer than his previous setup, the bed carved from a dark, luscious wood and piled with thick, richly brocaded sheets to combat the northern chill. A window with heavy drapes showed the same view as their breakfast nook, of hedges and trees already covered with a thin rime of frost.

_Their breakfast nook_. As if they truly were lovers who cared about such domestic things.

“Why are you here?” Ferdinand asked. “Pretending to be…”

He couldn’t say it out loud.

Hubert stopped, turning that glare back on him. “Isn’t it obvious? I was coming to rescue you. To return us both to Enbarr.”

Ferdinand hated the swelling in his chest at those words, the nervous flutter in his stomach.

“I didn’t expect to have you _defect_,” Hubert went on.

Ferdinand sighed, raking hands through his long hair. Hubert watched the movement carefully. “But what if this is the right way to do things? To actually work with the Kingdom and the Alliance until we come to a truce?”

“That goes against Edelgard’s wishes, and you know it.”

“But she is stubborn! She’s resigned herself to a bloody path when there are others—”

“Stop it,” Hubert growled. “I live to serve her, and if that means bloodying my hands for her, of helping her break Fódlan over her knee, then that is what I shall do.”

Ferdinand’s shoulders dropped, his complicated happiness at seeing Hubert frosted over like the gardens outside.

“Don’t you want to return home? To resume your path toward becoming Adrestia’s prime minister?”

Ferdinand did. He very much did. But would it be worth the cost?

“I am homesick,” Ferdinand admitted quietly.

“Then it is not too late to undo this.” Hubert returned to him, a looming shadow swallowing Ferdinand whole. “I understand there was a certain pressure to agree to their terms, but now that I am here, you aren’t alone. We can spin this in our favor.”

An ache settled in his heart, but still he asked, “How so?”

“We continue to act like you’ve defected, and that we are…lovers.” The word was somewhat strangled, and Ferdinand swallowed. “We feed them information that will doom them, rather than save them. We continue to work for Edelgard. Our Emperor.”

_The Emperor is depending on you_.

Ferdinand shut his eyes. Lies upon lies upon lies. Setting everyone up for more bloodshed.

But he was afraid of what Hubert would do in Fhirdiad unchecked. If he could at least be at his side, show him the value of ending this war, of working together instead of apart…

It was a long shot, and probably impossible. But he had to try.

“All right,” he said, opening his eyes to find Hubert giving him a rare smile. His breath caught at how it transformed his face from gaunt and venomous to soft and radiant.

“I’m glad you agree. I’ll make sure to let Edelgard know the plan has shifted.”

Ferdinand knew better than to ask how he would accomplish that. “So long as you’re writing to her, there’s something else she should know.”

When he told Hubert about the professor, he had the distinct pleasure of watching shock flit across his face. “She’s _alive?_ And she didn’t…” Hubert bared his teeth briefly, then sighed. “Very well. Perhaps we can try to persuade her to return with us.”

Ferdinand thought that very unlikely. Then again, he had seen the looks Byleth and Edelgard had exchanged at the monastery. The utter despair Edelgard had shown after the professor’s “death.”

“I…apologize for that display earlier,” Hubert murmured. He glanced at the corner of Ferdinand’s mouth, his eyes lingering a bit too long on his lips. “But if we’re to fool them, we must be convincing.”

Ferdinand nodded and tried to ignore the heat rising to his face. “I understand.”

“Do I…that is, will you give me permission to touch you in public? Not in a, uh…scandalous manner…”

Ferdinand’s face was definitely flaming now. “That’s…fine.”

But he couldn’t help but remember fingers around his wrist, bare skin against bare skin. The thought of enduring that again, moreover where others could _see_…

_Why in the Goddess’s name did I agree to this?_

~

The shape of Enbarr formed around him, pale marble and cobblestone streets, the archway at the end of the city’s main thoroughfare.

He stood within that arch, watching the blue banners of the Kingdom army advance. At their fore was a cavalryman with burning copper hair and a lance that glinted in the sunlight.

Ferdinand bore down on him, his amber eyes filled with rage and loss that echoed in the cavernous chamber of Hubert’s heart.

“It’s almost sentimental, running into you in the capital like this,” Hubert said as the spell formed purple and black against his palms.

Ferdinand tried to speak—tried to persuade him of something—but Hubert could only hear the pounding of his heart, the roar of the army around them.

And then the sharp, cold blade of Ferdinand’s lance pierced his gut.

“Hubert!”

He struggled out of the dream with a gasp, one hand flying to his midsection as if to close the gaping wound. He expected to feel blood, innards, but all that greeted him was brocade and silk.

Hubert was paralyzed for a moment, unsure where he was, whether this was Enbarr or Fhirdiad, whether he was dead or alive, whether or not the man leaning over him was ally or enemy.

Ferdinand was rumpled and wide-eyed, copper hair falling on either side of his gently freckled face. But he was not wearing armor. He only wore a large white shirt that was slipping over one tan shoulder, revealing a V of bare skin at his chest.

Hubert fought to sit up on the couch in the sitting room, rubbing his eyes. There was only one bed in the suite—of course there was, after Hubert had declared they were lovers to the damn _king of Faerghus_—so Hubert had allowed Ferdinand to keep his noble pride and take the bed while he took the long, green couch near the breakfast nook. He had slept in far worse conditions.

“What…” Hubert looked around at the moonlit-drenched room. “What happened?”

“I heard you let out a terrible scream. I was worried Dimitri had sent an assassination or something.” Ferdinand bit his lower lip. “I suppose it was only a bad dream?”

How utterly humiliating. Still, the remnants of the nightmare still clung to him, one hand anchored on his midsection as if to prove it hadn’t been torn.

Torn by Ferdinand’s lance.

He studied Ferdinand again, calm enough now to realize that the shirt he wore ended halfway down his thighs, barely concealing the muscled girth of them. The shirt was also thin enough he could see the man’s outline in the moonlight, the solid yet lean shape of him, all grace and strength.

And he could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that he could reach out and pull Ferdinand on top of him, still the tremors that racked his cold body.

Hubert swallowed and forced himself to look away even as a familiar ache settled between his legs. “I’m fine. And I assure you, if an assassin were to get in here, I would deal with them swiftly.”

Ferdinand huffed a breath that sounded close to a laugh. “No doubt.” He lingered a moment longer, then finally stepped back. “If you’re sure you’re all right…”

“I am.”

“Do you need another blanket? There are plenty on the bed.”

“It’s fine.”

“Or water? I can—”

“_Ferdinand_. Go back to bed. We need to wake early tomorrow to go over the plan.”

Ferdinand flinched back at the reminder, eyes downcast. “Right. Yes.” He hesitated a moment longer before retreating to the bedroom. “Good night, then.”

Hubert waited until the door was closed to sigh and fall back against the couch, still clutching his stomach.

Still acutely aware of the man on the other side of the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a breakfast nook and a war council room are used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a lot of talking and setup but I PROMISE the next will be Rowdy(TM)
> 
> Also there are several spoilers in this chapter, mostly for Blue Lions and Crimson Flower!

Sharing breakfast in their small nook was an awkward affair.

Ferdinand stumbled out of the bedroom to find that a servant had placed dishes on the table, as well as a pot of tea and a carafe. Hubert was already sitting at the table, bags under his eyes as he sipped a cup of dark coffee. When the man’s gaze swung from the window to land on Ferdinand, they both froze.

Over the years, he had come to read Hubert’s small tics, barely perceivable to those who didn’t know him. Who didn’t spend plenty of time with him. The slight twitch of his cheek now told Ferdinand he was embarrassed by the previous night, and would greatly prefer Ferdinand never bring it up.

Clearing his throat, Ferdinand joined him at the table and poured himself a cup of tea. It was fragrant with rose, steaming delightfully. He curled his hands around the warming porcelain and allowed himself a moment to simply enjoy it.

Then Hubert spoke. “I’m rather surprised they went through all this trouble.”

Ferdinand eyed the pastries, cuts of meat, and poached eggs. He delicately pulled what looked to be a raspberry tart onto his plate. “They want to show that they mean it. That they’re open to negotiation.”

Hubert scoffed. “It’s a waste of good intention.”

Anger sparked inside him, but he stamped it out quickly. He had stayed up most of the night, surrounded by comfort and yet unable to get comfortable as his mind raced with possibilities. How could he show Hubert that peace was their best option? How could he get past his preconceived notions, worm his way into the man’s mind deep enough to change it?

He liked to think the two of them knew each other well. A lifetime of petty spite from their childhoods had paved the way for mutual respect, even if the gateway had laid in coffee beans and tea leaves. They were generals in this war, servants of the empire, and schoolmates.

But were they friends?

And beyond that—could they pretend to be _more_ than friends?

Ferdinand hid his blush in his tea cup. Hubert didn’t even notice, too fixated on the gardens. Ferdinand followed his gaze and saw Dedue and Ashe working together to wrap up certain plants for protection against the frost. Trailing behind them was Mercedes, bundled in a thick coat and laughing gaily at something Dedue said. Even from here Ferdinand could see Dedue’s pleased flush.

“I think I’ve figured out how to use this situation to our advantage,” Hubert said in that soft, dangerous voice of his.

Steeling himself, Ferdinand asked, “How?”

“There’s a…complication in this whole scheme that I’ve been wondering how to deal with.” Hubert looked at him with one bright green eye. The late autumn light was gentle on his face, turning it almost the same shade as the porcelain cup he drank from. “I’ve mentioned them before.”

Ferdinand racked his brain. “Those who slither in the dark?”

“Yes. Solon and Kronya were a part of them. Thales is their leader. He…” Hubert clenched the gloved hand that rested on the table. “He’s still out there, preparing his people. They have been on our side…for the most part. But I’d be a fool not to know they have their own agenda.”

Ferdinand nodded, remembering that whole mess during their monastery days—Remire village, Jeralt’s murder, confronting Solon in the Sealed Forest. The professor eaten by darkness and emerging in the likeness of the Goddess.

“It was my intention to deal with them after we won the war, but I think I now have a better idea.” The faintest smile on Hubert’s face cracked him open, making Ferdinand’s breath hitch. “We use these fools to fight them instead. Either they will be killed, or kill Thales and his lot for us.”

Ferdinand had to admit it was a good plan, from the empire’s perspective. He glanced out the window again, finding that Mercedes was now holding onto Dedue’s arm as they strolled through the gardens.

He did not want these people to die.

“I’ll do all the talking,” Hubert said. “You do your best to sit there and look…besotted.”

Ferdinand quickly took another sip of tea, burning his tongue.

~

They were escorted by guards to the war council room. Ferdinand would have been fine with this were it not for the fact that Hubert decided to grab his hand along the way.

He very nearly squeaked with surprise at the contact. Hubert’s hands were gloved, but he could still feel warmth underneath, and the way his fingers twined with Ferdinand’s made him want to lie on the floor and never get back up. Instead, he tried very, very hard not to hide his burning face with his other hand.

“We’ll have to act as if this is all very natural,” Hubert had said earlier that morning. “Touching…courting…sharing looks.” Hubert’s jaw had clenched briefly as color touched his face. “Once again, you’re all right with this?”

“Yes,” Ferdinand had half-whimpered.

But now, experiencing it, he was very much not all right with it. Well, he was—but in the wrong way, the worst way, a way that would make Hubert cast Dark Spikes on him on the spot if he so much as caught a hint of Ferdinand’s thoughts.

Thankfully, he was distracted by seeing Dorothea outside the council room. She saw their clasped hands and her eyebrows fought to meet her hairline.

“_Oh_,” she said pointedly, and a bit too loudly for Ferdinand’s liking. “So it’s true, then.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Hubert asked. “I’m fairly sure it’s no concern of yours, Arnault.”

“Is that how it’s going to be, von Vestra?” She caught Ferdinand’s gaze and winked. “Go on, they’re waiting for you.”

As Hubert slipped through the door, Dorothea caught Ferdinand’s sleeve.

“Ferdie!” she half-whispered. “I had no idea. I mean, I knew that you had feelings for him back in the day—”

“Wh—I’m sorry, what?”

“Please. Your pining looks were hardly subtle.”

Ferdinand is pretty sure he can rival the sun with how much his body burns in humiliation. Had everyone seen? Guessed? Flames, did _Edelgard_ know?

Was that why she had come up with this ridiculous idea?

“Anyway, I just wanted to say that…well…” She bit her lip, glancing at the door. “I know how dedicated to Edie he is. I’m worried this won’t work.”

Ferdinand’s heart sank. Were they already so transparent?

Dorothea took one of his hands in hers. He took a moment to marvel at how much larger his were, how much more callused. Dorothea was fierce with magic, and he could spot small scars and burns similar to those on Hubert’s hands.

“Please, please make this work,” she whispered, her lower lashes shining with unshed tears.

He squeezed her hand in his, bones aching hard enough to match the pain in his chest.

He had to change Hubert’s mind. For the sake of Fódlan. For the sake of the young woman before him.

For the sake of his own heart.

~

Hubert kept flexing the hand that had held Ferdinand’s under the table.

True, it was swathed in a glove, but that did little to lessen the shock that had traveled through his body at his own daring. In full view of the guards, no less. He’d fought hard to keep his face impassive, calm, even when Dorothea Arnault—a former Black Eagle, he couldn’t help but think with disdain—had made such a spectacle of noticing it.

It also didn’t help that Ferdinand now sat at his side in the war council room, his body temperature invitingly warm, glancing at Hubert every so often with a look he thought might be endearing but was verging more toward panic.

Along the table sat various noble representatives of the Kingdom and Alliance, as well as Petra, no doubt standing in as a dignitary from Brigid. She cast Hubert a cool glare.

Dimitri sat at the head of the table, hands resting imperially on the armrests as he stared at Hubert. Dedue had assumed his regular position behind him, the soft expression on his face from this morning replaced with something harder.

But the person who caught Hubert’s attention the most sat on Dimitri’s right. Byleth stared sedately at him, her light green eyes still as unnerving as ever. Although there was a slight tension in her face, as if his presence caused her some distress.

_Good. Remember how you betrayed us. Remember who you left behind._

“So,” Dimitri said. His low voice carried easily in the room, making everyone’s backs straighten. “Both you and von Aegir have agreed to negotiate on behalf of the Empire. To consider making a truce, rather than continue this senseless war.”

_It is not senseless_, Hubert wanted to snarl. _She has a vision that you are too cowardly to accept_.

“Hold a moment.” The purple-haired fop Hubert vaguely recalled as Lorenz Gloucester leaned forward, frowning. “I still haven’t received word from Claude whether or not to pursue this particular…avenue.”

“He’s probably laughing his ass off,” Lysithea muttered, her thin arms crossed. “And knowing him, he’ll want to come and see it for himself.”

Dimitri half-smiled, and Hubert couldn’t help but be astonished at how much it transformed his face. “Perhaps so. In the meantime, Lorenz, we will have to continue without him. But I’ll gladly welcome his council when it comes.”

Lorenz leaned back with a scowl.

Dimitri nodded to Hubert and Ferdinand. “Let’s not delay this any further, shall we?”

Hubert hadn’t been able to fall asleep after his nightmare, and so had had several hours to think of what to say. He began with those familiar events during their schooldays, the attack on Remire village, Jeralt’s death. He glanced at Byleth as he spoke of her father, who flinched and cast her gaze down at the table.

“They are called the Agarthans,” Hubert said. “Corrupt mages who hide under the earth, biding their time to attack Fódlan and create chaos. They have already started by attempting to use the Empire’s forces as their own.”

Dimitri sat forward at this, the others muttering in surprise. Even Linhardt, who had been lazily turning pages in the book he was reading, lifted his head in curiosity.

“Agarthans,” Dimitri repeated slowly. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“I’m sure any mention of them was stripped from the monastery’s library,” Hubert said. “Particularly since Solon was masquerading as the librarian.”

“Why would you give up this information out of the blue?” Felix demanded. Sylvain put a calming hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “You have to have some ulterior motive, here.”

Hubert kept the frown off his face. “You wish me to be truthful? Then here is the truth: I was always planning on telling you of this. In the event of…if the Empire were to ever fall…” His throat tightened at the mere thought of it. “I had a contingency plan to inform you of the Agarthans and to ask you to put a stop to them.”

And it _was_ true. He had the letter written, ready to be delivered if the worst were to happen. Ferdinand turned to him, his amber eyes wide. Hubert forced himself to meet them.

Dimitri took a deep breath. “And yet circumstances have brought us to this information sooner.”

Hubert tore himself from Ferdinand’s gaze, simmering at the implication that the Empire was destined to fall. “I implore you to treat this as the threat it is. They have already sunk their claws in the Empire. Do not let them catch you or the Alliance as well.”

“Why are they involved in the Empire at all?” Felix asked, suspicion still thick in his voice.

But this Hubert could not reveal. He was already on thin ice, giving out this intel without Edelgard’s permission. To say that Thales was actually her uncle would be to remove himself far from her forgiveness.

“They found an opening and took it,” Hubert said. “Infiltrated our ranks. Ensured us victories on the battlefield.”

“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me,” Felix muttered. Sylvain tightened the hand on his shoulder in warning.

“Von Aegir,” Dimitri said suddenly. Hubert felt the man beside him wince. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Did you know about this threat?”

Ferdinand took a deep breath. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Hubert’s fingers twitched; those words were for Edelgard only. “Though admittedly I do not know as much about them as Hubert. I would defer to him in this matter.”

“But knowing what we all know now, how would you see us deal with this?”

Ferdinand looked to Hubert again, lost. He had never been skilled at hiding his thoughts, and Hubert worried a single expression might be their downfall.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out and brushed a lock of copper hair from his cheek, tucking it gently behind one ear. His thumb rested on Ferdinand’s jaw for a moment.

Ferdinand stopped breathing. Hubert found himself staring at the faint freckles on Ferdinand’s face, the delicate point of his nose, the perfect shape of his eyebrows.

Someone cleared their throat, and Hubert snatched his hand back. Everyone was watching them with some combination of shock and confusion. Byleth knowingly raised her eyebrows.

Ferdinand flared crimson and played nervously with his long hair, undoing Hubert’s work. “I…I think we should take them out. Send your strongest troops to eradicate them. Ask the Alliance to lend their strength.” He nodded in Lorenz’s direction.

Dimitri was quiet a long moment. No one moved—except Linhardt, who yawned.

“Very well,” Dimitri said at last. “Von Vestra, we will need all the information you can provide in order to prepare an attack.”

Hubert fought not to smile in satisfaction. He inclined his head. “Of course. I hope that providing this information will prove that we are serious about this reconciliation.” As well as eliminating one of the Empire’s obstacles.

Dimitri’s smirk was the opposite of assuring. “We’ll see. You’ve caught us in a bit of an unfortunate time, however. At the end of the week is our Founding Day, and there will be a fete to celebrate.”

“You’re invited, of course,” Sylvain said with a wink.

The only way Hubert wanted to celebrate the Kingdom’s Founding Day was by setting fire to the palace. Thankfully, it was Ferdinand who responded.

“We’d be honored,” he said. He turned to Hubert with a quivering smile that made something in his chest tighten. “Wouldn’t we, love?”

_Love_.

The word echoed through the war council room, through the entire palace, through Hubert’s stunned and wiped-blank mind. It was just an act, a dramatic little flair on Ferdinand’s part, but that didn’t stop his heart from beating entirely too fast.

But everyone was watching them again. Byleth especially, those unnerving eyes moving between them.

“Y…es,” Hubert managed to get out at last. “We would.”

He had worried about Ferdinand holding up his end of the act, but now he realized the true danger was himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Hubert continue to be pining idiots, but this time in fancy clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait!! Thank you to everyone who's been reading along/commenting/being patient with my nonexistent update schedule! Hopefully the end of the chapter makes up for it *eye emoji*

One week, Ferdinand decided, was a very long amount of time.

Back in Enbarr, he could get a myriad of things done in a week—meetings with local dignitaries, a fundraiser or two for the institutions hit hardest by the war effort, drafts of potential laws that would go into effect once Edelgard secured her victory.

But in Faerghus, he was not a prime minister. He had no meetings to attend, no fundraisers to organize, no laws to draft. He was a political pawn in a sea of Kingdom blue who had been, for the first time in his life, left to his own devices.

Well…not entirely.

There were still so many eyes on him, waiting, evaluating, considering. Observing any little contact between himself and Hubert.

And, oh, Hubert was definitely aware.

It began with small things: a touch on Ferdinand’s back, a pet name—“_darling_,” Hubert said, the word enveloped in velvet and steel—a slight caress of his cheek.

They stood to watch a demonstration of Faerghus elite soldiers in the castle’s courtyard, a special show in honor of the upcoming Founding Day. Hubert stood with his arm wrapped securely around Ferdinand’s waist, face carefully neutral, despite the warmth along the seam where their ribs met. Ferdinand, short of breath, copied the move and felt some distant satisfaction at Hubert’s surprised flinch.

Both of them needed to be playing this game, didn’t they?

“It’s lovely how you two are so close,” Mercedes said in that soft, dreamy voice of hers, and Ferdinand grinned as Hubert scoffed.

They had dinner that night in the main hall, which they were now allowed to attend rather than having food only brought to their rooms. Dimitri, Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Byleth presided over the head table while others formed groups at their own tables, some quiet and some boisterous. Casper held Linhardt’s hand as he shoved meat into his face while simultaneously trying to tell a joke. Dorothea hummed to herself as she played with Petra’s hair and drank wine. Annette fed Mercedes a bite of cake.

Ferdinand’s eyebrows rose at that. Turning to Hubert sitting sullen and black as a raven beside him, Ferdinand speared a bite of roasted potato on his fork.

“Open wide, love,” he cooed.

Hubert’s visible eye widened as the proffered potato inched closer to his mouth. As if Ferdinand were giving him a poisonous insect instead of a root vegetable seasoned with thyme and rosemary.

Then, quickly remembering where they were and the many eyes watching them, Hubert opened his mouth and allowed Ferdinand to feed him.

Ferdinand stared at the way Hubert’s lips briefly enveloped the tines before he was pulling back, chewing with singleminded determination.

“Thank you, darling,” Hubert murmured. Color had risen to his face, an echo to the heat in Ferdinand’s. Across the table, Bernadetta “aww”ed while Lysithea grimaced.

Hubert made sure to get him back, though. The day before the party, they sat through a play that the Fhirdiad children supposedly put on every year, about Loog’s conquest and the separation from the Empire. Dimitri watched the children with a gentle smile Ferdinand had never seen him wear before. Indeed, nearly all the former Blue Lions watched the children with fond expressions. Even Felix didn’t seem as cranky as usual.

Ferdinand kept glancing at Hubert, nervous that a sneer might give him away, but the man sat serenely bored at his side.

_This is what Edelgard wishes to destroy_, Ferdinand thought as the child playing Loog lifted a fake sword high in the air, his paper crown slipping.

He was immediately jolted from his darker thoughts when he felt Hubert lean in toward him, mouth to his ear.

“If they say ‘the mighty Kingdom’ one more time I might just scream,” Hubert breathed.

Ferdinand shuddered, his ear alight with nerve endings. Hubert gave him a curious sideways look, but his smirk didn’t escape Ferdinand’s notice.

“You’re a villain,” Ferdinand hissed. Someone shushed them.

He somehow made it through the rest of the play without rubbing his ear, though he desperately wanted to. Afterward, he practically dragged Hubert to the gardens despite the chill in the air. He shoved his arm through Hubert’s to keep up their pretense—and also because it _was_ very cold in the north.

“Hubert,” he began carefully, slowly, “are you and Edelgard fully committed to this plan?”

He felt Hubert stiffen. “Why do you ask?”

He was about to walk on very thin ice. Ferdinand cleared his throat, looking around at the trees that had already shed their leaves. “It’s just…I feel that we should be _helping_ them against the Agarthans, that it would show both parties that there are advantages to being allies instead of enemies.”

Hubert’s hand came to rest on Ferdinand’s arm, gripping tight in warning. “What are you saying, _prime minister?_”

The title took the shape of a weapon, the way Hubert said it. “I do not wish to give up on everything we’ve worked toward. I love the Empire. I will always fight to keep it safe. But is that not what these people deserve as well?” He gestured to the castle at their backs, rising solemn and pale against the watery sunlight. “I do not wish to see their way of life erased.”

Hubert made them stop under the scattered shade of a tree. The look on his face was dangerous; it was the sort of face Ferdinand had seen him make before interrogating a prisoner. He shivered, thinking about Hubert looming before him with some hideous device in his hand, or the kiss of a harmful spell close to his skin. Ordering Ferdinand to confess everything.

He was ashamed at how the thought made his stomach well with heat.

“You realize why they’re making us attend these ridiculous events, don’t you?” Hubert asked coldly, softly. “They want our sympathy. To make sure we see their way of life before thinking twice about upending it.”

“Are they really so difficult to sympathize with?” Ferdinand threw back. “I understand there are complicated emotions between Edelgard and Dimitri. I understand that Edelgard wants to do away with the church, with Crests, with nobility. To develop a meritocracy for all of Fódlan. But why should one woman decide what is best for an entire continent?”

Hubert’s eyes flashed with another warning. He stepped closer to Ferdinand, looming slightly over him.

“Do you doubt your Emperor?” Hubert whispered.

The words washed across Ferdinand’s lips like Hubert’s breath against his ear. He couldn’t help but gasp, unable to move, to back away.

“Do you not wish to see the Empire thrive?”

Ferdinand closed his eyes and turned his head away, chest tight and knotted. “Not at the expense of others’ lives.”

“_There_ you are.” Dorothea’s voice broke through the frigid air, and Ferdinand sensed Hubert stepping away from him. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Hubert replied smoothly.

She raised an eyebrow at him before turning a smile to Ferdinand. “We need to get you something to wear tomorrow. Hubie, I assume you want something in all black?”

Ferdinand tried to reorient his mind as Dorothea led him to the castle tailor, as he was measured and fitted for a new suit. Everything felt hazy and grim, though he put on bright smiles for Dorothea’s sake.

The more he pushed Hubert, the more his fear grew. What if the man decided to simply poison him like the traitor he was? What if he couldn’t reach a resolution that ended with the Agarthans dead and the Empire and Kingdom as allies? What if those children they had seen today ended up dead on the streets of Fhirdiad?

Everything felt impossible. Intolerable. Inevitable.

~

Standing in front of the mirror in the sitting room, Hubert brushed a hand down the black jacket that had been provided for him for the party. It was outfitted with gleaming gold buttons and epaulets, ending in long tails at the back that half-hid the formfitting black pants that went with it.

Hubert felt as ridiculous as those children in their too-large crowns and wooden swords. Playing at something that was too big to properly explain.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Ferdinand’s eyes in the garden, stubborn and sad.

Would Ferdinand truly defect from the Empire? Would he force Hubert into making a decision that churned his stomach to even think about?

He had to make sure they were both on the same side, which was why this absurd Founding Day celebration was actually a blessing in disguise.

The door to the bedroom opened and Hubert turned, ready to relay the plan, when the words caught in his throat. Ferdinand emerged dressed in sleek red pants that molded to the voluptuous muscle of his thighs, his broad chest hugged by a jacket of rich, dark blue and gold. His calves were hugged by shining boots, his hair partially tied back to reveal the angular line of his jaw.

Ferdinand paused when he saw Hubert, giving him the same assessment with a breathless, fraught silence. Hubert swallowed and looked away, knowing he couldn’t possibly compare to the radiance Ferdinand seemed to emit wherever he stepped.

“Well,” Ferdinand said at last, “you clean up nice.”

Hubert snorted, thankful for the casual tone in his voice. “You’ve seen me in much more regal attire than this.”

“True. And I never tire of it.”

Hubert bit the inside of his cheek. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

“We…” He cleared his throat. “We need to make the most of tonight. Everyone will be distracted by the party.”

The jovial light in Ferdinand’s eyes dimmed. “Of course.”

“Having second thoughts, von Aegir?”

The muscle at Ferdinand’s jaw feathered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Hubert could always trust himself with ruining a mood.

The castle’s ballroom was resplendent with gold and banners of royal blue, tables laden with drink and food—noticeably less than could be provided outside of wartime—and music from a live band swept sweetly through the hall. There were already several people dancing, Annette and Mercedes performing a hectic waltz while Caspar dragged a scowling Linhardt away from a table.

“Oh,” Ferdinand breathed as his side. Hubert allowed himself a moment to watch Ferdinand taking it in, the softness of his mouth and the gentle longing in his eyes. As if he truly wished the two of them were attending this party as lovers, letting go of duty and responsibility for one night of dancing and revelry.

No, that was a dangerous line of thought. Hubert shook his head to dispel it.

“Shall we?” Hubert led him further inside, ignoring the sideways glances of those whose trust they had yet to earn. He was honestly amazed Dimitri had even allowed them to attend tonight. Perhaps as a show of good faith. The king was currently dancing with Ingrid, the knight smiling and throwing her head back in laughter in a rare moment of joy. Lorenz bowed to the professor and led her by the hand for a dance. Sylvain had somehow managed to cajole Felix to the dance floor, where Felix grumpily laid his head on Sylvain’s chest as they swayed.

Ferdinand was almost immediately pounced on by Dorothea and a few of the other women. They fawned over his hair and outfit while he played the part of dashing noble by complimenting them all in turn, kissing the backs of their hands with that charming smile. Hubert fought not to roll his eyes, or to take too close a look at the jealousy brewing in his chest.

Dorothea briefly caught his eye, her own sparking with mischief. “Oh dear, it seems like we’re distracting you from your date,” she said smoothly. “You and Hubie should go dance. Have some fun.”

Ferdinand turned misgiving eyes on Hubert, who could only stare blankly back.

The two of them had never danced together.

Swallowing, Hubert held out one gloved hand. Ferdinand didn’t hesitate before accepting it.

Then they were sweeping toward the dance floor, earning even more stares as they silently competed over who was going to lead. Hubert ended up the winner, and he took some measure of satisfaction from the slight pout of Ferdinand’s mouth.

Of course Ferdinand was an excellent dancer. He was an excellent equestrian, singer, lance wielder, minister. This man picked up skills with a speed and determination that nearly put Hubert to shame.

Hubert felt the sway of Ferdinand’s loose hair against the bare skin of his wrist. He shivered a bit, torn between moving closer and stepping away.

“This is…nice,” Ferdinand murmured, looking not quite at Hubert, but rather at his neck.

He didn’t want to admit he felt the same. There was nothing _nice_ about why he was here—what they intended to do.

“I’ll make a note to dance with you more, then,” Hubert said. He blushed as soon as the words left his mouth, but the brightening of Ferdinand’s face more than made up for it.

_Stop it_, he chastised himself. _You’re an assassin, not a besotted fool_.

The song ended and Hubert and Ferdinand bowed to one another. Hubert was about to drag him away for their mission when Dorothea cut in and swept Ferdinand into another dance, Ferdinand’s laugh trailing after them like a comet.

Hubert stalked the edges of the party with a glass of champagne as Ferdinand took to what he did best. He was like a star shimmering on a lake, brightening the entire ballroom with his voice and laugh and presence. Slowly those who had glared at them at their entrance began to approach Ferdinand, drawn by the same thing that inevitably drew everyone to him.

This silly, bombastic, foolhardy man.

Hubert refused to lose him to their enemy.

Once Ferdinand had a moment to breathe, he wandered toward Hubert with a slight nod. Hubert settled his hand on the small of Ferdinand’s back, looking for all intents and purposes like someone leading their lover away for a rendezvous.

He had kept an eye on their surroundings over the past week, had a vague idea of how the halls in the castle were assembled. Out a side door and through a narrow servant’s hall, they found themselves near a large staircase leading up. Gilded portraits and landscapes covered the walls, the floor softened by a red runner.

“The king’s study should be near his quarters,” Hubert said quietly as they walked. “I saw Felix heading there the other day.”

“And what are we looking for, exactly?” Ferdinand’s tone was flat.

“Anything that can be of use to Her Majesty. Troop positions. Information on their generals. Where their defensive lines are weakest.”

They wandered as carefully as they could, keeping an eye and ear out for wandering partygoers or guards. They very nearly went in a circle, Hubert swearing at Kingdom architects and their confusing layouts.

But eventually they found the double doors to the king’s rooms, flanked by guards despite the king himself not being inside. Hubert and Ferdinand stayed to the shadows at the end of the hall, near an etched door that must have led to Dimitri’s study.

When Hubert held a hand out to it, he nearly hissed in displeasure. A flare of runes and glyphs spiraled out from the knob.

“It’s an enchanted lock,” Hubert whispered. “Infused with a good amount of faith magic.”

Had these precautions always been here, or only since Hubert’s arrival? It had been well known at the monastery—and was true even now—that Hubert’s grasp on faith magic was dismal at best. He excelled in its darker counterpart.

Still, he studied the runes and glyphs, hoping to find out how to decode them. Ferdinand tugged impatiently at his sleeve.

“We should just go back to the party,” Ferdinand said. “If we’re seen too close to the king’s quarters—”

Hubert wanted to snarl at him, but he was right. There was nothing he could do about the enchanted lock now, not without dragging over the attention of those guards.

They began to slip back down the stairs, along the regal hallways, in search of the ballroom. Hubert wondered if anyone had noticed their absence, if there were guards already looking for them, if that lock left imprints of anyone who attempted to pick it—

Ferdinand froze, and then so did Hubert. There was someone—multiple someones—coming up the stairs, toward Dimitri’s quarters.

And the two of them were still too far from the ballroom to look anything but suspicious.

Their eyes met. Ferdinand’s lips were parted, the blood drained from his face.

Hubert didn’t know he was moving until he had crowded Ferdinand up against the wall, nearly knocking over a painting. The breath caught in Ferdinand’s throat. His amber eyes were wide and fixed on Hubert’s, the pulse at his neck fluttering.

Hubert’s voice was a croak. “Do you give me permission to—?”

Ferdinand groaned and grabbed the back of his neck, bringing him down into a rough kiss.

It seared through Hubert like a fire spell, clawing at his veins, charring his bones. He gasped and then grabbed Ferdinand’s chin, angling his mouth to better kiss it again, deep and hungry. Ferdinand’s lips were as soft as he imagined—softer. He smelled like champagne and roses and this morning’s tea.

Hubert dug a hand through Ferdinand’s hair and titled his head back more, licking at the seam of his lips, delighting in Ferdinand’s soft whimper. And then those lips were opening for him. Hubert leaned into his body, dizzy with want, with a dream being fulfilled. He licked into Ferdinand’s open mouth and groaned at the heat waiting beyond, the way Ferdinand’s own wicked tongue brushed against his, the desperate little breaths escaping them both.

“A-_hem_.”

They started, separating as a thin strand of saliva broke between their mouths. And—Goddess, Ferdinand looked _wrecked_. His eyes were glazed and bright, his lips plush and red and wet, his skin flushed, his hair ruffled.

Something dark and hungry yawned in Hubert’s stomach.

With some effort, they both turned toward the stairs. Standing at the top was Byleth and Dimitri, the latter’s mouth pressed in an embarrassed, thin line. And beside them…

“Well now,” said Claude von Riegan with his winning grin. “It looks like Hilda owes me quite a bit of money.”


End file.
